Marjan Strojan Biography

If you look at it from above,
it stoops.
If you see it from close by,
it grows.
...

He sat on a timber of a young spruce cut down
on a Sunday afternoon: the woods still blue
and trails dug up by wheel-tracks all around
too wet for anybody to pass through.
...

The bite of morning chill like a blind flash,
the first thrust of his weight connects the brain
with water. A power, flat and deep, unknown
that grips the line and straightens the long arch.
...

All things that grow indelible in the grass -
cicada's eyes, the sound of herbs,
I'd gather up to hold before my eyes
and press them to my lids like a cold compress.
...

Zinnias in bloom; a train
moving on, departing: maids'
work on the balcony.
An electric pole - a hedgehog
...